You Say Potato, I Say Murder
by theflockroxmysox
Summary: A new case has found its way to the SBPD. There's a murderer at large in Santa Barba - and all signs point towards Shawn Spencer as the culprit. There's just one tiny detail missing - Shawn has no memory of killing those people.
1. Of Pineapples and Twihards

**Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Or Twilight. Or anything else mentioned in this chapter that doesn't belong to me. How's that for straightforward?**

**Full Summary: A new case has found its way to the SBPD. There's a murderer at large in Santa Barba - and all signs point towards our favorite psychic detective as the culprit. As the evidence piles against him, even Shawn can't help but be convinced by it. There's just one tiny detail missing - Shawn has no memory of killing those people.**

**This is my first attempt at writing a Psych fanfiction, and I plan on making it a successful one. The idea just popped into my head one day - well, actually the title did, and then I worked on it from there :) **

**Did anybody else feel the need to squeal at the priceless look on Lassiter's face when he caught Shawn and Juliet in the interrogation room? Speaking of that, I guess I should probably tell you that this story takes place during the third season, after Juliet and Shawn have begun their relationship, but before it is revealed to Lassie.**

**Yup, that's pretty much it for now… Review?**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Please. I haven't snuck into your apartment for weeks. Which reminds me, we're all out of peanut butter." ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 1**

**Of Pineapples and Twihards**

"Gus, for the last time, I did not put that pineapple in your shoe!" Shawn Spencer, resident psychic detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department, was already telling lies as he ascended the steps of the building with his best friend and partner in crime, Burton Guster.

Gus glared at him. "Really? Who did, then? And don't say Lucky the Leprechaun."

Shawn sighed, coming to a stop on the top step. "I can't be sure, but it looked like one of those vampires from that movie, Midnight."

"You mean Twilight, Shawn?" Gus continued through the front doors of the station, not bothering to hold it for Shawn.

"Gus, you never told me you were a Twinerd!" Shawn said, loudly enough to turn several heads and induce a heated glare from Head Detective Lassiter.

"The term is Twihard, Shawn. And no, Shawn, you haven't heard it both ways."

"Jeez, Gus, don't go all Lindsey Lohan on me," Gus gave him a blank look, and Shawn continued. "You know, when she starred in the Parent Trap, and kept repeating her dad's name?" He considered this, and then added "well, not his real name, obviously, but-"

"Really, Shawn?" They'd arrived among the hustle and bustle of the main floor of the station. Gus stopped again, trying to calm his nerves as he addressed his partner. "You had to make that reference?"

"Of course I did, buddy ol' pal," the friendly pat on the back that came with those words was enough to make Gus wince. "You know as well as I do that the Parent Trap was a classic 80's movie."

"Shawn, the Parent Trap was released in 1998."

Shawn frowned. "Wow, it's scary that you would actually know that," he noticed Chief Karen Vick heading in their direction, a worried frown stretching across her face. He smiled immediately. "Ah, Chief Vick! Karen! How good to see you again, looking as dapper as ever!"

Gus glared at his partner, rolling his eyes at the unwanted, unruly antics. "You said you wanted to see us?"

"That I did. Gentlemen, my office, please."

Gus exchanged an uneasy glance with Shawn. If Chief Vick hadn't even been bothered by the fact that Shawn had used her first name, then something must really be wrong. Shawn shrugged, made a "I don't know" face, and the two followed the chief into her office.

The blinds snapped shut so loudly and so abruptly that Gus jumped. Embarrassed, he covered it with a cough that only made Shawn look disbelievingly at him. Reluctantly, Gus lowered his arm…

And jumped again as it met with another arm that had not been there two seconds ago. He looked up into the disapproving face of Lassiter.

"Is something the matter, Guster?" he asked calmly.

Gus opened his mouth to respond, but Shawn cut in. "He was just shocked by your complete and utter refusal to fix that pile of black stuff on your scalp that you call 'hair'."

Lassiter's retort was cut short by the door slamming again as Juliet O'Hara walked in. It was suddenly beginning to feel very crowded in Vick's small office. Gus shifted uncomfortably.

"Good, now that you're all here, let's get down to business," the chief stood in front of her computer desk, one hand braced on the solid oak wood, the other resting on a neat manila folder that no doubt held the contents of their next case – their next pay day, as Gus liked to think of it.

She flipped open the folder to reveal several sheets of paper with printing so small that Gus couldn't make out what it said from where he stood. Shawn, however, could, from the way he stood with his head slightly tilted and his eyes squinted as he started intently ahead. There were also two photographs paper-clipped to the side. The first showed the close-up of a teenage boy – he couldn't have been more than seventeen. At first glance, he looked to be asleep, his eyes closed and his black mop of hair flopped unevenly on one side. But then Gus noticed the pallor color of his skin. He was dead, all right, and the ugly purple bruises flowering around his neck only further proved the case.

The second was of an older female, probably somewhere in her mid-thirties by the look of it, and she was also deathly pallor. However, there was nothing on her, at least that the photograph showed, that indicated cause of death. Her mouse brown hair was slightly mussed, but no one had ever died of bed head.

"Our two victims are Mark and Tanya Cole. Mark and Tanya were both killed in a home invasion yesterday. We have yet to receive results as to the cause of death, but it is likely to assume from both the strangulation marks around Mark's neck and the knife wound in Tanya's chest that they were strangled, and stabbed to death."

"Yikes. This is just like that show-"

"Was anything stolen?" Lassiter interrupted, not even bothering to glare at the psychic.

"As far as we can tell, no. The only other member of the household – Mark's father and Tanya's wife, Jim Cole – claims that he was at the gym during the time of the invasion," she looked up. "Carlton, I need you to verify Mr. Cole's alibi. Spencer, I need you to accompany O'Hara to the crime scene, see if you can pick up any… psychic waves that will help us in this case."

"Sweet!" Shawn clapped his hand together in anticipation. He _seemed_ excited about the crime scene, but Gus knew he was just as happy to be provided with some alone time with Juliet. "You hear that, Jules? A whole afternoon away from Lassie-face!" Yep, definitely alone time. Well, aside from Gus being there.

"Just one more thing, Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick's voice stopped Shawn at the doorway. "You find anything, you report back to Detective Lassiter. Got it?"

"But-"

"Henry's orders."

Shawn sighed. There was no point in crossing his dad, especially when what he said wouldn't make a difference anyways. It never did.

-O-

The crime scene that was the house came into view not until they were right on top of it. It was hidden by so much foliage that you'd never even guess there was a house there if you came upon it from the wrong angle. Or the right angle, depending on how you looked at it.

Gus had opted to drive the blueberry by himself, letting Shawn ride alone with Juliet in her car. They pulled into the short driveway to find that they had the place to themselves. All of the other officers were no doubt following other leads.

The house was eerily quiet, Gus noticed as he followed Shawn and Juliet through the many hallways. Shawn was already in "psychic" mode, rapidly and thoroughly scanning every inch of everything they passed by, eyes squinted and head tilted in his classic pose.

They found their crime scene in the kitchen. At least, it sure looked like a crime scene. The place itself was a mess, broken dishes and food scattered everywhere. Dried blood was splattered all over the floor, and some had managed to find its way onto the sides of the cabinets. Gus gagged involuntarily, deciding that he was fine standing right where he was.

He watched as Juliet snapped on some rubber gloves. What for, Gus didn't know. The evidence must have been collected earlier, when the crime had first been reported. Shawn was treading carefully through the scatterings of the dish remains, still locked in his pose.

And then he froze. His gaze was locked onto something, but Gus couldn't tell what it was. Shawn knelt down and picked something out of a crevice in one of the cabinets. A piece of a shirt. It was splattered with blood, but there was no doubt about the very familiar pattern – a piece of a blue plaid shirt. A piece of _Shawn's_ blue plaid shirt.

Gus's mind reeled, trying to process the information even as Shawn shoved the fabric into the pocket of his windbreaker and stood up. He was clearly disturbed by its presence. That had to mean he hadn't put it there, right? Because to have put it there, he would have had to have been there, and there was no one else home when the murders took place, except for the killer.

"Gus, get over here!" Shawn's voice broke through Gus's shock. No, of course Shawn hadn't been here. Duh. What was he thinking? He walked to his friend's side, trying not to look at the blood on the floor.

As it turns out, that's exactly what Shawn wanted him to look at.

"Gus, do you see that splatter of blood there?" he pointed directly in front of them.

"Shawn, there's blood all over this floor. That little speck's not gonna make a difference." No way was he looking down.

"If the body was…" he looked over at Gus. "Gus, lie down and pretend to be dead."

"What?"

"I need to get a clear picture of the scene in my mind!"

"No, Shawn! I am not going to lay on the bloody floor just so you can analyze some tiny speck of blood that's not even close to where the body was found!"

"See, that's exactly my point, Gus!" Shawn knelt down. "This blood is too far away to have come from the victim when she was stabbed."

Gus looked at him blankly.

"Oh, come one, Gus, really? How did you not get that? This isn't the victim's blood!" Shawn was whisper-shouting in his excitement. Oh. Gus understood now.

Shawn turned excitedly to Juliet. "I'm getting something!" he nearly forgot to put his hand to his head in the classic "psychic" gesture.

"Really? What?" She walked over.

"I'm sensing… our murder was hurt. Yes, hurt," Shawn clutched his own arm for emphasis. "Ow, it burns! Oh, the pain it burns!" He fell to his knees, faced scrunched in mock pain. Suddenly his expression cleared. "The murderer cut himself with his own weapon. Yes, I can see it now. He's running, running away from the crime scene. He's clutching his arm, trying to stop the bleeding," Shawn squeezed his eyes shut, feeling around on the floor. "But it dropped, it dropped!" Gus nudged Shawn with his foot, steering him the direction of the blood drops.

Shawn opened his eyes, gasping for breath. "Here!" He pointed to the red stain on the tile floor. "Here is where you will find the blood of our murderer."

Juliet gave Shawn a puzzled look that quickly turned to one of understanding as she realized exactly what Shawn had explained to Gus a few moments earlier. She took out a plastic bag and a swab, and quickly scraped the blood off of the floor.

She pocketed the evidence just as her cell phone rang.

"O'Hara," was her brusque answer.

She listened for a moment to a voice that neither Shawn nor Gus could hear. Her face paled visibly, causing Gus to exchange a worried look with his partner.

"A-are you sure about this?" she stuttered, her voice tiny. A pause. "But-" She was cut off by the person on the other end of the line. "Yes, I understand."

She hung up, and turned to face Shawn, shock screaming from her expression. Her voice shook as she uttered the words, "Shawn Spencer, you are under arrest for the murders of Mark and Tanya Cole."

**-O-**

**Bet you didn't see that coming! Actually, I bet you did, because the summary basically told you it was.**

**Reviews are welcomed and greatly appreciated.**


	2. The Other Side of the Table

**Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! Keep 'em coming! ;)**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "I'd rather shower with a bear." ~ Lassie**

**-O-**

**The Other Side of the Table**

"_Shawn Spencer, you are under arrest for the murders of Mark and Tanya Cole."_

Shawn blinked. Once. Twice. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Gus's mind was reeling in shock. He could only watch as Juliet produced a pair of handcuffs from her pocket. Her hand shook so much that Gus thought she wouldn't be able to keep her grip on them.

"The test results came back. They found… your fingerprints on the murder weapon. Shawn, do you want t-to explain what the _hell_ is going on?"

Gus thought that was a stupid question. It was obvious. Shawn was being framed. Right? Shawn would never… he would never.

"I don't know!" Shawn threw his hands up in frustration, causing Juliet to wince. "I've never been to this house! I've never even seen it before today! Although, it is hard to miss, what with the foliage and everything."

"Shawn!" Juliet was losing more and more of her composure every second they stood there. "I need to see your hands."

"See my hand, what?" Juliet held up a shaking hand, the one that held the cuffs. "Really, Jules?" Shawn lowered his voice to a whisper. "Don't you think that we should, I dunno, wait until tonight?"

-O-

Juliet tried to stop her hands from shaking in disbelief as she escorted Shawn to the interrogation room. She was all too aware of the confused and disbelieving looks that came her way, or rather, Shawn's way, as they walked through the station.

"Come on, Jules," Shawn's voice made her flinch. "Joke's over. Very funny, haha. Was it Lassie's idea?"

Juliet didn't answer.

"What the hell did you do, Shawn?" And here came Henry. Great.

"Nothing!" Shawn was growing more adamant.

"Shawn, I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, here, but you can be sure as hell that I'm not paying bail." Henry stopped walking, watching disapprovingly as his son was ushered away.

"Oh, thanks Dad, really?" Shawn shouted over his shoulder.

The possibilities of what had happened raced through Juliet's mind as they made their way to the interrogation room. Shawn had been framed. The computer had made a mistake, and those weren't Shawn's fingerprints. Someone had made a clone of Shawn, and… she just couldn't accept murder. Shawn wasn't a murderer. He literally couldn't hurt a fly. And after all he'd been through with Yin and Yang…

"I always knew it would come to this," was Lassiter's proud declaration from where he stood behind the viewing glass as they entered the room, earning a stern glance from Chief Vick.

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Juliet turned to see Gus walking slowly and disjointedly over to join Lassiter and the chief. Juliet had forgotten that he'd been behind them the whole time. He must have been in as much shock as her – maybe more.

Juliet and Shawn took their seats at the suddenly cold – looking table.

"Wow, is this what it feels like to be on this side?" Shawn shrugged his opinion.

"Where were you the night of the murders?" Juliet interrupted. She figured that the best way to do this would be to be as harsh as possible. Which wasn't much, considering the fact that Shawn was her boyfriend… she looked anxiously back at the two-way mirror.

"Is that a joke, Jules?" He looked at her serious face and his smile fell. "Wait a minute, you're serious? I'm really a suspect here?" Juliet neither confirmed nor denied it. "All right, fine. Let's see, I must've been… staying late at the Psych office to finish up some paperwork," when Juliet shot him a disbelieving look, he added, "Okay, so maybe I was playing pinball on the computer and eating the last of Gus's tapioca pudding. I most certainly was not _murdering_ somebody."

Juliet turned to the mirror again, and called out, "Gus, can you confirm this?"

There was no answer at first. Juliet figured that Gus had probably started to shout out his answer, then Lassiter had showed him that he needed to press the intercom button in a rather rude manner.

Finally, "I did exit the premises before him."

"'Exit the premises'? Really, Gus?" Shawn craned his neck to look at the mirror.

"Did you know the family, Shawn?" Juliet's game face was back on, or trying to be.

"Uh, no. I don't even remember their last name!"

"Cole."

"Really? I would've said Jackson. Huh."

Juliet sighed. "Okay, Shawn, you're free to go. For now. But you can't leave the city until either your name has been cleared… or," Juliet couldn't finish.

Shawn nodded, suddenly grim-faced as if the reality of the situation had just dawned upon him. Juliet went to stand up, but he stopped her. "Uh, Jules? Could you maybe, possibly do me a favor?"

"What, Shawn?" Juliet asked in exasperation. She just wanted to leave.

"Could you, uh, maybe somehow delay the results of the blood test?"

"Why?" she asked cautiously.

Shawn looked at her. Then he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a long but shallow scratch that was just beginning to scab over. "I think it might be mine."

**-O-**

**So this was a lot shorter than the last chapter, and a bit more boring as well, but review anyway?**


	3. Long Time No See

**Disclaimer: I don't own Psych, and I don't own Advil.**

**Hello again! So, I'm having a contest. Whoever makes a guess to the reference I made during this chapter, will receive a virtual pineapple, a virtual Shawn hug, and the first person to guess it correctly will have the next chapter dedicated to them. Game on!**

**Oh, and here's a hint: It was a TV show that ran from 1991 to 1995.**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "There is a witness. There's a cat. I want to talk to that cat as soon as he's done licking himself... wow, I'm jealous." ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 3**

**Long Time No See**

_Then he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a long but shallow scratch that was just beginning to scab over. "I think it might be mine."_

Gus jumped as the interrogation room door flew open and Shawn stormed out. Well, as much as Shawn could storm. He looked around wildly for a moment, catching sight of Gus.

"Gus, let's go!" he snapped, already leaping up the stairs. This murder accusation really had him more rattled then he'd let on. Gus cast a wary glance at Lassiter and Chief Vick, and quickly slipped out of the room.

"Shawn, you wanna explain to me what is going on?" he whisper-shouted as they descended the front steps of the department. He started planning what he was going to say when Shawn gave him "the lecture" on how to treat someone who'd just been accused of murder. His best friend had been accused of murder. His best friend who he'd done everything with since high school. Shawn wouldn't have done this, Shawn _couldn't_ have done this.

Shawn yanked open the door to the Blueberry, leaning on it as he turned to address Gus. "We're going to talk to Jim Cole."

"The father slash husband?"

"No, Gus, the dog," Shawn closed the door as he sat down.

Gus ignored the comment. "Shawn, you know you can't work this case. You're a _murder_ suspect!"

Shawn sighed, turning to face Gus. "Gus, do you want me to drug you again? Because I will."

Gus glared at Shawn. He wanted to prove his friend's innocence as much as the next person - okay, only if the next person was Juliet – but he also didn't want to get arrested and wind up as Shawn's roommate in jail for interfering with a murder case. Finally, his "Shawn" side won out, and it was his turn to sigh as he turned the keys in the ignition and shifted the Blueberry into reverse.

-O-

Gus's arm was starting to get sore from the numerous slaps to it by Shawn, after passing the Coles' house not once, but three times. He could've sworn that the foliage had grown even more dense since the morning. The house looked exactly the same as they'd left, same gray siding and white-washed steps, with the gravel path leading to the fancy, "I-spent-way-too-much-on-this" door with the intricate lion head brass knocker. The only difference this time was that there was a car parked in the driveway. A silver Honda Accord, to be exact.

They got out of the car and made their way to the front door, the gravel underfoot crunching loudly and awkwardly in the silence. Gus's hand went for the knocker, but Shawn pushed it aside and pressed the smaller, more modern door bell beside it.

The door opened almost immediately, revealing a man in his late thirties, wearing a surprisingly fashionable sweater vest and brown slacks. However, look past his outfit and you would see the dark circles under his eyes, the unkempt hair, and a five o'clock shadow that all contributed to his gaunt, weary expression.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" his voice was monotone.

"Yes, I believe you can," Shawn stepped forward. "I am the terror that flaps in the night. I am the surprise in your cereal box!" he glanced over at Gus. "Oh, and this is my partner, Jenkins McSnorkelpants. We are here on behalf of the Santa Barbara Pottery Association. Your wife, Tanya, was a very close friend to all of us."

"Tanya didn't attend a pottery class," Mr. Cole's voice was confused.

"Oof course not. Mr. McSnorkelpants?"

Gus glared at Shawn. "Mr. Cole, we would like to ask you some questions regarding the m… untimely demise of your wife and daughter."

"I don't think 'untimely demise' is any better than 'murder'," Shawn whispered.

"I already told the police, I was at the gym."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "Ah, but there were no witnesses to confirm it!"

"Yes, there were!" Mr. Cole said adamantly. "I was there with three of my buddies! They all saw me there, they can confirm I was with them the whole time."

"Of course they were," Gus smiled apologetically at Mr. Cole, then turned to Shawn. "Did you even read the case file?"

Shawn looked at him incredulously. "Gus, when did I have the time? I was investigating the crime scene, and then bam! I was dragged away for murder!"

"I'm sorry, what?" Apparently Shawn hadn't been whispering quietly enough. "Who did you say you were with again?"

"We didn't," Gus glared again at Shawn. "We thank you for your time, Mr. Cole, but we really should be going now."

"But-"

"_Shawn._"

"Fine."

-O-

The door closed rather loudly behind Shawn as he walked into the Psych office. He'd told Gus to drop him off there after leaving Jim Cole's house, saying that he wanted to pick up his bike. The truth was, he needed somewhere that he could think. And his apartment wouldn't do, not after having the water shut off this morning. What a wonderful day.

The Psych office was pitch black. Of course, it didn't help that it was dark outside, as well. It was eerily silent, with no partner there to make obscure 80's movie references with him, no TV blaring out the results of American Duos, no _ping_ of the computer as Shawn beat his own high score at Pinball. He snapped on the lights, hoping to make the atmosphere more friendly. And hoping that it would help him stop tripping over the miscellaneous items strewn across the floor of the room.

Shawn's mind was still reeling with the events of the day. Accused for murder? How? Why? Obviously he hadn't done it, but how would he prove that to the police? Did anyone believe he was innocent, or did they all think he'd finally joined the cuckoo's nest for good? Gus had to believe him, at least. And who would want to accuse him in the first place? All of these questions clamored for attention, demanding to be addressed. Shawn wished he'd brought some Advil.

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his trance. He sat up in his office chair, listening as the footsteps came closer.

"We're closed!" He called out, eyes narrowed as he watched the open doorway.

A man stepped in, around Shawn's age, wearing a black windbreaker and dark jeans. His hair was tousled, giving him a carefree but styled look. His green eyes were smiling as he looked in on the detective.

Shawn recognized him right away, even though he hadn't seen him in over ten years. "Jeff Wilson," he stood up, a smile stretching across his face as he greeted his high school friend. "Dude, you look awesome!"

Jeff let out a laugh. It was just as friendly and uplifting as Shawn remembered. "Shawn Spencer. Psychic detective, who would've thought."

Shawn shrugged. "What're you doing in town?"

"Well, I'm here on work business, unfortunately. Although I've promised myself that I'll bring the wife back for a second honeymoon, if you know what I mean," he winked. Shawn laughed. All thoughts of the murder case had been pushed to the far corner of his mind.

"How long you been married?"

"Five years. What about you, you married?"

Shawn laughed like that was the funniest joke in the world. Which it was. "No way, man, you kidding? So, uh, what're you doing here?"

"I saw your plaque at the museum. Digging up a t-rex, that's some cool stuff. Thought I'd drop by and say hello. Where's Gus?"

The smile slowly fell from Shawn's face as he remembered the murder, and the fact that he was the main suspect. Yeah, that's one way to ruin a day. "Well, he's probably running around like a trained dog for his pharmaceutical company."

"Pharmaceuticals, really?" A loud ringtone cut short Jeff's words. He dug in his pocket, coming up with a sleek Blackberry. "Jeff Wilson speaking… yeah, uh-huh. All right. Gotcha," he snapped the phone shut, shoving it back in his pocket. "That was the boss. Wants to know where a certain document ended up. Guess I better go find out."

"You do that," Shawn said unenthusiastically, watching Jeff's back as he walked away. "Nice talking to you, man."

Jeff turned at the door. "Nice talking to you too, Shawn. Nice talking to you too."

**-O-**

**And scene! You may now proceed with the reviews.**


	4. There She Goes Again

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Oh, you mean my pilot's license? That's out back in the Cessna. Or perhaps you're refering to my license to kill. Revoked. Trouble at the Kazakhstan border. I could give you the details but then I'd have to kill you, which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked." ~ Shawn **

**-O-**

**Chapter 4**

**There She Goes Again**

"You know what I love about this place, Gus?" Shawn Spencer asked through a mouthful of breakfast as he sat on the restaurant's veranda overlooking the ocean. The waves were sparkling with the morning sunlight, bringing with them a warm breeze as they rolled onto the shore. Of course, Shawn wasn't here for the view. "The bagels. Somehow they manage to toast them just right, every time." He was here for the food.

"Shawn, will you stop admiring the food for a minute and just think?" Gus was sitting across from him, his food untouched on his plate. His appetite had disappeared. That tended to happen when your best friend was on the hook for murder.

"About what, Gus?" Shawn swallowed his bagel.

"About who framed you!"

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Just yesterday, you were telling me off for interviewing a suspect. What, is this some twisted spin-off of good cop, bad cop?"

Gus glared at his friend. He was about to respond when their server, a young waitress with wavy blonde hair that bounced as she walked and bright blue eyes that seemed full of life and spark, walked up with a tray of drinks. She unloaded two drinks with expertise, a pineapple smoothie for Shawn and a glass of pulp-free orange juice for Gus.

"Gentlemen, your drinks," she winked at Shawn.

"Wow, that was amazingly fast," Shawn took a sip of his smoothie. "Mm, and delicious! Amazing, just like you."

Gus choked on his juice.

Blondie smiled, showing her way-too-white-to-be-natural teeth. Gus pretended to be absorbed in his juice, watching out of the corner of his eye as Shawn scribbled something on a stray napkin and slipped it into her pocket.

"You have a girlfriend," Gus reminded him after Blondie had left.

"Shh, not so loud!" Shawn put a finger to his lips.

Gus rolled his eyes, deciding not to continue the argument. Instead, he continued with his earlier topic. "Shawn, we should really talk to Juliet and Lassiter, you know, to see if they've found any other leads."

"No, no we should not."

"Why not?"

"Because, Gus, I am their suspect list. Why would they have any need for other leads?"

"Okay, Shawn, what's wrong with you? Why are you turning down every suggestion I've got?"

"_Because_, Gus!" Shawn snapped, suddenly seeming upset. He slammed his smoothie onto the table with a little more force than necessary.

Gus jumped, looking confused. "Jeez, Shawn, what's wrong with you?"

Shawn hesitated, working his jaw. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Gus. I'm just… I'm afraid that whatever evidence we find will only wind up leading back to me."

-O-

The Santa Barbara Police Department was busy. Detectives scurried in and out of the chief's office, police officers criss-crossed the hallways, answered the phones, pulled in and out of the station as minor disturbance calls came in, and generally stayed out of Henry Spencer's way.

Detective Carlton Lassiter was one of them. He hadn't gone near his desk all day for fear of Henry's wrath. Instead, he had been using the empty desk across from Juliet's. Now, however, he stood by the coffee table, watching from a safe distance as Henry slammed an angry fist onto the table. Again. It should have been annoying under normal circumstances, but for once it wasn't. Not really, anyway. Because these weren't normal circumstances, his son had been accused of murder. And however much Lassiter had wanted to see Shawn go to jail, he couldn't-

"Carlton," he turned at the sound of Juliet's voice.

"Please tell me you're not here to tell me that I have to move back to my desk," he glanced over at Henry.

"Carlton,"

"Because I would rather shower with a bear-"

"_Carlton,"_

"-than have to work across from that insufferable-"

"_Carlton!_"

"What?"

"Give him a break, his own son's been accused of murdering two people," Juliet scolded.

"Which is exactly why he shouldn't be working this case," Lassiter retorted.

Juliet, who had been rubbing her forehead wearily, looked up. "Okay, stop it," she moved in front of Lassiter, a sudden anger at her partner welling inside her. "You know just as well as I do that Shawn didn't do this!"

"Then explain why his fingerprints were the only ones found on the murder weapon!" When Juliet didn't answer, he sighed and stormed away, leaving a speechless and shaking Juliet in his wake.

-O-

That night, Shawn Spencer returned to his apartment weary and annoyed. Annoyed that he couldn't do anything about this case, weary of dodging Gus and his outstanding number of phone calls all day. It didn't help that to get to his apartment, he had to go through a crabby landlord snapping about a rent that wasn't due for another two weeks, and screaming children running rampant in the halls from a birthday party gone wrong.

As he entered his apartment, he didn't even bother to flick on a light. Instead, he collapsed with an over-exaggerated sigh onto his small couch.

And realized he had sat on something. Something that had not been there that morning.

He moved over, pulling a small pad of paper out from under him. There was a small design on the bottom left corner, the symbol of the restaurant he and Gus had been to that morning. That wasn't what interested him, though. Several words were scrawled on the pad in inky black letters. Shawn read them, and the notepad fell out of his hands.

"SBPD, open up!" the shout was followed by an insistent knock. Shawn swore, kicking the notepad under the couch before getting up to open the door.

Lassiter stood there, backed by two other police officers, one of which was Buzz.

"Lassie-face, what are you doing here?"

"Cut the crap, Spencer. You know exactly what I'm doing here."

"Uh, refresh my memory?"

Lassiter glared at the psychic, pulling a set of handcuffs out from his pocket. His voice was loud enough to be heard by all of Shawn's neighbors as he said, "Shawn Spencer, you are under arrest for the murder of Georgia Calloway."

**-O-**

**Déjà vu, much? Review, much?**


	5. Behind Bars

**Anybody else as excited as I am for the season premiere of White Collar? Next Tuesday! **

**This chapter is dedicated to BrokenSky49 for correctly guessing the tv reference in chapter 3 - Darkwing Duck!  
**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Come on, Lassie. Show some chest hair. Chicks dig the sternum bush. Come on! Go Simon Cowell! You've got the salt and pepper! IT'S NICE!" ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 5**

**Behind Bars**

"_Shawn Spencer, you are under arrest for the murder of Georgia Calloway."_

Shawn opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. "I'm sorry, who?"

Lassiter scoffed. "Yeah, right. Now turn around," he clamped a pair of handcuffs rather roughly around the psychic's wrists.

"Ow, Lassie! Not so tight!" Shawn snapped, frowning as he realized the detective was serious. "Seriously, who is this lady?"

"She's a waitress," Lassiter answered reluctantly, escorting Shawn out of the building. The psychic had been trying to pull away from his grasp, but he halted suddenly at those words.

"Wait a minute, blonde? Yay high, blue eyes?"

"Like you didn't know."

"Dammit!" Shawn seemed genuinely upset. Lassiter furrowed his brow in confusion. "What evidence do you have that proves it was me?"

"A note in her pocket, telling her to meet you at the pier."

-O-

The door slammed shut behind Shawn with a final clank, locking him into the holding cell. He surveyed the dismal room, with the small cot extending from the wall and the toilet tucked away in a small corner. His feet shuffled over cement as he turned around, looking back out at Lassiter.

"Come on, Lassie, you don't really believe I murdered someone, do you?"

Lassiter, who had been turning around to leave, stopped. He rubbed a hand over his face, and turned around. "I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Spencer. "

"Well, join the club!"

Lassiter sighed, walking up to the bars of the cell. "Spencer, even if you didn't do this-"

"We both know I didn't, Lassie!"

"Spencer," Lassiter's voice had a warning tone to it.

"You know what? Fine. Convict me. Just remember when I cleared _your_ name. Remember when I was the one who believed _you_ didn't shoot that criminal, and actually did something about it."

"Spencer-"

"Don't you have better things to do than waste your time talking to a criminal like me?" Shawn snapped. It was clear from the tone in his voice that he didn't want to talk to the detective anymore. Not even to insult his hair, which was worrying.

Lassiter walked up the stairs to the main floor, not sure what to think. Every instinct as a cop was screaming at him not to believe Spencer. Murderers told lies like this all the time, their one final effort at escaping prison. But that was just it – Spencer _wasn't_ a murderer. He seemed genuinely upset about the whole thing, rattled enough that his childish façade was slipping, revealing a more desperate side. But, even if he wanted to, there was nothing Lassiter could do.

Juliet, on the other hand, didn't believe for one second that Shawn was behind any of this. And unlike Lassiter, she had been searching through old files all morning, looking for anything that would open up a new lead in the case – one that pointed _away_ from Shawn. And when another body had shown up on the pier, she'd been one of the first ones down there, and one of the last to leave, scrutinizing the scene for any shred of evidence that would prove Shawn innocent.

There was none.

"Juliet!" Shawn looked up from his position on the cot. He sounded surprised to see her standing in front of his cell.

"Don't get your hopes up, Shawn. I'm only down here to question you," it was getting easier to keep her voice steady as she spoke to him.

"Damn. And I was so hoping you'd brought me a pineapple upside down cake. So, how is it having a boyfriend behind bars? Sexy, right?"

"Don't push it, Shawn," Juliet warned.

"Wow, you know, you're starting to sound like Lassiter. Throw in a comment about my free spirit and you're good to go. Now, let's see. Scene of the crime… Well, I can tell you I didn't go near the pier today. I had breakfast with Gus, stopped by the Psych office, and spent the rest of the day with an old pal from high school. As a matter of fact, I had just stepped into my apartment when your old pal Lassie busted down my door and slapped some cuffs around my wrist. Rather rudely, as well, I might add," Juliet opened her mouth to respond, but Shawn cut her off. "And no, I do not know that waitress. She did serve me an amazing pineapple smoothie this morning, though. You should really try one."

Juliet didn't know how to respond to that. With Shawn, there was no way of knowing whether he was telling the truth or not. She'd only have to hope. "I guess that's all," she got up to leave.

"Don't forget the pineapple upside down cake!" Shawn called after her. "Hey, Gus!" he greeted his friend as he came into view. "I knew you'd show up to bail me out, buddy ol' pal."

"Don't be ridiculous, Shawn, I'm not here to bail you out."

"You're not?"

"No," Gus stopped several feet from the bars, eyeing Shawn warily. Shawn noticed, and scoffed.

"What, you believe all this murder mumbo-jumbo?" he asked incredulously.

"Well…" Gus's voice rose an octave as he shrugged.

"Don't you 'well' me!"

"Shawn, they said they found a note from you telling the victim to meet you at the pier, which is where she was killed. I saw you slip a note into the waitress's pocket."

"They can't prove the note was from me!"

"Oh yes they can. Your prints were all over it, and it was in your handwriting!"

Shawn frowned. "Oh, well I guess they can."

"Gus, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Henry Spencer's voice sounded from the top of the stairs. He watched as Gus muttered a "Yes sir,", gave Shawn one last look, and leapt up the stairs.

"Dad! Come to bail your only son out? How thoughtful!"

"Shawn, I don't know what the hell you did, but you will face the consequences. I didn't raise you to escape punishment, I'm not going to start now."

"Aw, come on, Dad!"

Henry sighed, stepping up to the bars of the cell. He hated seeing his son behind bars, but he was under no circumstances going to tell his son that. "Shawn, you'd better hope that the system-"

"Dad, the system will chew me up like dried fruit and spit me out like rotten corn," Shawn sank back onto the cot, rubbing his face in his hands. "God, my own father doesn't believe me."

Henry sighed, imitating Shawn's movement as he lowered his face into his hands. "Shawn, I believe you," he said at last. "But I can't do anything about that. First off, I'm not an actual detective. Second, even if I was, I wouldn't be allowed to work on the case because you're my _son_. That's personal connection."

Shawn looked up. "Wait, wait, hold on. You believe me?"

"Yes, Shawn, yes I do. Not that that means anything-"

"Uh, excuse me? Mr. Spencer?" Buzz appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes?" Shawn and Henry answered in unison.

"Uhh… Henry, Chief Vick wants to see you in her office."

"Right," Henry practically ran out of the room.

"Hey, Buzz," Shawn stood up. "You wanna do me a favor?"

"Sure, anything for you, Shawn. As long as it doesn't involve opening this door," Buzz added.

Shawn laughed. "No, nothing like that. Can you talk to Juliet for me? She was supposed to bring me a pineapple upside down cake…"

**-O-**

**So, yeah, basically a filler, but review anyway?**


	6. Boredom, Boredom, Guess What! Boredom

**This chapter's probably going to be very short, but I promise that next chapter will make up for it! Also, I may not be updating next week as I have midterms coming up *sarcastic yaayyy*. I'm still debating on whether to post just this chapter until they're over, or post the next one and leave you guys in suspense… :)**

**Psych Quote of the Day:**

**Gus: I just got a lap dance by Patrick Swayze!**

**Shawn: What, you mean like an impersonator?**

**Gus: No, I think it was actually Patrick Swayze!**

**-O-**

**Chapter 6**

**Boredom, Boredom, Guess What! Boredom**

Shawn had seen the holding cells of the Santa Barbara Police Department several times. He'd even been _in _them, but only briefly, and usually with Juliet. He'd never actually been _locked_ inside one. Until now. And he couldn't say he was enjoying the experience. The floor was hard, the food had no pineapple in it, the toilet made an odd gurgling noise when it flushed, the cot was thin and somewhat lumpy and Shawn didn't even want to know what that stain was, and there was nothing to do. As far as Shawn was concerned, that was inhumane. Who locks a guy in a cell with nothing to do? Not even a puzzle or a board game or a… what was it called? Sodukow, Sukado… Sudoku. All of the waiting around was driving Shawn crazy. Buzz has stayed and talked to him for a little while, but that was it. Apparently no one else wanted to talk to a suspected murder.

He'd demanded a phone call once, when Chief Vick walked by carrying a stack of papers, but apparently since the holding cell technically wasn't prison, he technically didn't get a phone call. And the worst part? The not knowing. The being cut off from the case. He had no way of knowing if they'd cleared his name or not, if they'd even tried. He didn't know if anyone else had died, although he suspected not because nobody had confronted him about it – as the surely would have – and whoever was framing him was smart enough to lay low while Shawn was in jail. Probably.

Maybe they'd cleared his name and were keeping him in the cell on Lassiter's orders. It seemed like something the detective would find funny, though he was certain that Juliet wouldn't allow it. But if his father joined in as well… well, Juliet wouldn't be able to stop both of them.

Just as he watching reaching peak boredom-ness, Jeff appeared.

"Hey, Jeff!" Shawn stood up from his seat on the cot, stretching his legs as he strolled to the front of his cell. "They let you down here?"

Jeff chuckled. "Reluctantly. I told them I was a friend. Some dude with the salt and pepper got in my face, yellin' at me. Something about annoying little twerps, and he wasn't surprised I was your friend."

"That would be Carlton Lassiter. More commonly known as Lassie, Lassie-face, Carlytown, or," Shawn paused dramatically, "Binky. Feel free to tell him I told you that."

"Wouldn't that put you on his bad side?"

"Dude, I've been accused of _murder_, in case you hadn't noticed the solid metal bars standing between us."

Jeff grinned. "Yeah, I heard. Sorry 'bout that, man. I'm sure you didn't do it."

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Really? What makes you so sure? Maybe I really am out to kill. Maybe once I get released from here, I'll visit your hotel and kill you while you sleep."

Jeff raised his eyebrows right back. "Maybe you will. Or maybe you'll stop by for a beer or two. But seriously, you didn't do it. You're Shawn Spencer, _the man_. And the way I see it, why go through all the trouble of solving all those cases, only to become prime suspect in one?"

"So you've heard of my impressive track record!" Shawn beamed.

"Damn straight I have. That's amazing, man. You really psychic?"

"If I wasn't, would I be able to tell that you're staying at the Hotel Mar Monte?" Shawn had seen a receipt sticking out of Jeff's pockets earlier, when he had come to visit the Psych office.

"Dude, how'd you know?" Jeff wondered. Then he raised an eyebrow, lowering his voice. "So, what d'you think of that blonde chick up there? She's got some nice looks."

"Who, Juliet?" Shawn was suddenly on the defensive. Sure, Jeff was a good friend, but there was no way Shawn was letting him go after Juliet. "She's, ah, she's got a boyfriend."

"Really?" Jeff frowned. "Don't tell me it's Mr. Salt and Pepper."

Shawn laughed, amused at the prospect of Juliet being in love with Lassiter. Or Lassiter having a girlfriend. "No, no way. He… doesn't work for the police," it was half true. Shawn wasn't an officer. Just a consultant.

"Makes sense," Jeff shrugged. "I've heard that it can be complicated, when it's someone you work with."

"You know that's right. I mean, not _you_ you…"

Jeff grinned. "Uh-huh…"

"You didn't!"

Jeff shrugged.

"Dude!"

Jeff was about to respond when his phone rang out, a shrill _bring_ that made Shawn jump. He held up a finger as if to say "hold that thought" and fished his phone out of his pocket. He slid it open, fingers flying across the tiny keyboard as he typed a response to the text. When he was done, he shoved the phone away and looked up apologetically at Shawn.

"Sorry, man, gotta go. Co-worker needs me to sign some papers," he rolled his eyes. "Hopefully next time I talk to you, we won't have this-" he gestured at the bars, "-between us."

Shawn half-smiled. "Good talking to you, man."

He watched as his friend left the room, the smile slowly sliding from his face. Talking to Jeff had been a good distraction from his boredom, but now the distraction was leaving, and the boredom was returning. It brought with it a feeling of despondency, and Shawn sighed, plopping down once again on the lumpy old cot.

Finally, night fell through the bars of the tiny square window, the only source of natural light in the cell. Shawn yawned, the long hours of boredom taking their toll. He laid on the cot, rolling onto his side as he tried to get comfortable. The cot squealed in protest as he moved. The pillow was too fluffy, and his head sank right in. He sighed, fighting to clear his mind. A hard task for a fake psychic detective accused of murder. But finally, after minutes of thinking random, meaningless thoughts, his mind drifted into the oblivion of sleep.

-O-

Shawn woke the next morning, not to the clang of keys in the lock of the cell as he had expected, but to the rolling and _wooshing_ of the ocean waves and the feeling of sticky wet sand on his goose bump freckled skin. He sat up quickly, scanning his surroundings. Sandy beach stretched on in both directions, the waves a navy blue in the pre-dawn light as they rolled onto the shore.

This was definitely not his holding cell.

**-O-**

**How's that for a cliffhanger?**


	7. Fugitiveness

**If anyone has any requests as to characters they'd like to see more of, let me know and I'll see what I can do**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Oh brown snowman Gus... I think I'll miss you most of all." ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 7**

**Fugitive-ness**

_This was definitely not his holding cell._

It took Shawn five full minutes to come to any sort of conclusion as to what had happened, why he suddenly felt the damp breeze of the ocean air on his skin, and not the humid, stale air of the cell. He'd fallen asleep on a lumpy old cot and woken up on a soft bed of sand. He pinched himself, determined to wake up. When that didn't work, he smacked his cheeks. Nothing changed. This was real.

Shawn looked around wildly, kicking up sand as he ran away from the water. Despite the sharp pricks of cold wind, a certain grogginess fogged his mind, and his limbs felt weary and leaden. Had he been drugged? By who? How long had he been lying on the beach? Had anyone at the station noticed his absence? Should he go back and turn himself in?

It took him another two minutes to realize that there was an object clutched tightly in his right hand. A gun! It looked standard police issue, but what was it doing in his hand? What the hell was going on?

Shawn shivered, and it wasn't just because of the chilly sea breeze. Something felt wrong about this. Obviously he had somehow escaped the cell, but why couldn't he remember any of it? _"We both know I'd escape."_ Shawn had told Juliet during the missing polar bear case. He 'd been kidding then, but now he wasn't so sure. Had he really escaped, or had someone done the dirty work for him? The real murderer, perhaps?

Whatever the case may be, Shawn knew he couldn't stay here. For one, he had no way of knowng when the SBPD might show up and for another, the sun was rising, families would soon be waking – if they weren't already – and he was standing on one of the most popular beaches in Santa Barbara with a gun in one hand.

The Psych offices were only a short walk away. He'd start there.

-O-

The SBPD had only hosted a full scale man hunt five times. Three during the Yin-Yang fiasco, and twice more, several years ago. Shawn Spencer made the sixth.

"Okay, people, listen up!" Chief Vick stood at the head of the large crowd that had gathered in the main hallway. She shot a glance at Henry as she waited for everyone to quiet down. The senior Spencer had his arms folded apprehensively across his chest, and he was hanging back, looking troublesomely upset. He caught her looking at him and nodded grimly. "We are looking for this man, Shawn Spencer. Some of you may know or have heard of his psychic detective agency. Spencer is a suspect in three recent murders, and was being held in one of our holding cells downstairs until sometime last night, when he escaped. If any of you find anything, report directly to me or Head Detective Lassiter," she glanced at Lassiter, who was as grim-faced as Henry. She knew that the detective, along with O'Hara and Henry, had been secretly harboring their own doubts as to Shawn's guilt. She also had been skeptical, although she'd never admitted it. Now that he'd escaped, they had to face the facts and realize that the "suspected" part of suspected murderer no longer applied.

She craned her neck, trying to see over the sea of people as the front door to the station opened up, and Gus walked in. _Dammit, who called him?_ she wondered, making her way through the crowd of officers to intercept Shawn's friend.

"Chief, is Shawn-"

"A wanted fugitive," she affirmed, in no mood to elaborate.

"But Shawn-"

"Gus, I don't know who called you and frankly, I don't care. Go join Lassiter and Juliet, and for the love of God don't try to interfere on your partner's behalf. Got it?"

Gus nodded, frowning worriedly as he left to join the two detectives.

-O-

Shawn winced as the door to the Psych office slammed shut behind him. He tip-toed over to his desk, squinting in the dark. He didn't dare turn any lights on, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. He rummaged through his desk drawer, feeling for his phone that he knew he'd left here. It was a good thing he'd forgotten it, otherwise it would be locked up in the police station. He pulled it out, turning it on, surprised and amused to see that he'd gotten a text message from Gina, of all people. He erased it.

He looked around the office, the shadows of the many miscellaneous objects making him jumpy.  
Everywhere he turned, he expected to see Lassiter or Juliet or Gus or the chief or his father jumping out at him with a pair of handcuffs – or in Lassiter's case, pulling a gun on him.

Speaking of guns, Shawn hefted the gun in his hand, examining the make and mold of it. It was surprisingly lightweight, but Shawn knew it deadly potential. He'd personally felt a bullet slicing through his skin, tearing through the soft flesh of his shoulder as though it were soft play-dough. He couldn't imagine why he'd held onto this one for so long. Illusion of protection, maybe? Now he placed it on his desk slowly, as if reluctant to part with it. He lifted his phone to get a better view of the screen, and dialed.

"_Burton Guster here. Well, not really here, obviously, but you get the point. So, uh, do your thing and leave a message at the beep."_ Shawn grinned momentarily at Gus's awkwardness over the phone.

"Hey, Gus, buddy! It's me. Uh, so I'm guessing you know by now that I'm a wanted fugitive. Just like when we were kids, right? Remember, you'd always hide under the porch and I'd threaten to beat you with my giant spork. Good times. Yeah, so , here's the thing. I have no idea how I ended up here. I mean, one minute I was catching some Z's on my super-duper comfy king-sized bed in my five-star suite, and the next I was rudely awakened by those seagulls from _Finding Repo_. I mean, can't a guy get some rest? But, seriously, buddy, I hope you still believe in my innocence. And, just so you know, we're out of pineapple. Bye."

-O-

Gus's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, reading one missed call from Shawn Spencer.

"What's that?" Lassiter asked from the front seat of his car. Juliet turned her head expectantly.

"It's Shawn," Gus said, bewildered. "He called," a "new voicemail" sign popped up. "And left a voicemail."

Gus put the phone up to his ear, listening with brows furrowed. "Finding _Nemo_, Shawn," he muttered at one point, earning a strange glance from the detectives. Finally the message ended.

"Anything useful?" Lassiter asked. From the tone in his voice it was obvious that he didn't expect anything.

"No," Gus shook his head. "Unless you count the fact that we're out of pineapple…" his voice faded away.

"Gus?" Juliet asked.

"He's at Psych."

-O-

Shawn had been there. That was evident from the moment they stepped in. Random items were strewn haphazardly across the floor, as though he'd been stumbling around in the dark. His desk drawer was wrenched open, and thoroughly emptied.

The fact that Shawn was no longer there took a little longer to deduct. Lassiter pulled his gun several times at vaguely human-shaped shadows, provoking amused looks from Gus. Lassiter glared at him, and ordered him to join Juliet in searching the office for any other clues while he cleared the rest of the vicinity.

The farther away he moved from Gus and Juliet, the softer the sound of their search efforts became. Eventually, they became nothing more than a whisper in the background. Lassiter scanned the last room, holstering his gun after jumping at yet another shadow. He was just about to turn around and leave when the loud ring of his cell phone screamed, shattering the silence. Lassiter jumped, cursed, and flipped open his phone.

"Lassiter."

"Lassie, it's Shawn. I need a favor."

**-O- **

**You know the drill.**


	8. I Know, You Know

**First off, I would like to thank you all for your amazing reviews! I really appreciate you all taking the time to let me know your thoughts, and reading them all makes me smile every time :) **

**So there should be between 12 and 14 chapters total in this story, in case anyone was wondering.**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "I feel like I have been incarcerated in a blueberry. This car makes me want to weep and then die." ~ Nigel St. Nigel**

**-O-**

**Chapter 8**

**I Know, You Know**

"_Lassie, it's Shawn. I need a favor."_

Lassiter froze. It took several moments for him to wrap his mind around was he was hearing, but once he did it made perfect sense. Only Shawn would be smart enough to break out of the cell, and then stupid enough to call one of the people capable of putting him back in the cell.

He glanced quickly behind him to make sure he was alone. "Spencer, are you nuts?"

"Well, it depends on what you mean by nuts, Lassie-"

"Spencer, where the hell are you?"

"Come on, Lassie, I'm not that stupid," Shawn scoffed.

Lassiter's face hardened. "There is a full-scale manhunt searching for you. If you think that withholding your location from me is going to keep you out of jail, you're sadly mistaken."

Nearly a full minute passed by. Lassiter was about to hang up when Shawn spoke again, the seriousness in his voice catching the detective by surprise. "Lassie, I know you know I didn't do this."

"Is that why you broke out of police custody? To prove your innocence? Well, I hate to break it to you, Spencer, but it's not working."

There was another lengthy pause. Lassiter wondered if his words were getting through to the deranged psychic. "Stearn's wharf."

"What?"

"Stearn's wharf. I'm on Stearn's wharf."

Lassiter raised his eyebrows. Spencer had just told him exactly where he was. He _should've_ hung up right then and there, gone back and told Juliet and Gus, and rushed down to the wharf to arrest Spencer. But something stopped him. _"You know what? Fine. Convict me. Just remember when I cleared __your__ name. Remember when I was the one who believed __you__ didn't shoot that criminal, and actually did something about it."_ His hands involuntarily rubbed the bridge of his nose. What the hell was he supposed to do?

"All right, Spencer. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go down there this instant and arrest you," he hissed, each word making him wince. Why was he doing this for Spencer? He'd never liked the psychic, in fact he'd even threatened to throw him in jail on several different accounts. So why, now that the psychic was actually being faced with criminal charges, did he throw caution to the wind to _possibly_ help Spencer.

"Because, Lassie, I didn't break out of my jail cell!" Shawn blurted out.

Lassiter immediately made up his mind to drive down there and arrest him. "Excuse me? You've got to be kidding me, Spencer."

"Except I'm _not_!"

"What do you-" Lassiter broke off as he heard footsteps coming up behind him. "Gotta go," he muttered into the phone before snapping it shut.

"Who was that?" Juliet asked.

"Hmm? No one," Lassiter said before he could stop himself, turning around to face Juliet. He avoided her eyes, barely believing himself as he covered for Spencer. Again, what the hell was he doing? He couldn't be _helping_ Spencer, could he? Let alone actually _believing_ him…

"Okay…" Juliet shot him an odd glance. "Well, I just got call about another body."

Lassiter was going to kill Spencer before anyone had the chance to arrest him.

-O-

Shawn couldn't believe he'd just told Lassiter all of that. Of course, as soon as he'd said it, he'd left the wharf. He hadn't expected Lassiter to believe that he hadn't broken out, but he'd at least hoped that he would believe that he hadn't killed anyone.

Now he stood behind a palm tree on the edge of the beach, a frown etched onto his face as he watched a body being hauled out of the shallow waters of the receding tide. He fingered the gun hidden in his pocket, watching the figures of Lassiter, Juliet, and Gus as they strode to the body. He bit his lip, thinking of Gus, and if he'd joined the manhunt of his own free will. His own best friend, helping to find an arrest him.

From where he stood, he could just barely make out the red stain on the man's chest. A bullet wound, and Shawn had no doubt that it would match the caliber of the gun he held in his pocket. Yet another murder pinned on him. Freaking great.

He couldn't watch anymore. He couldn't watch his best friend and girlfriend discover yet another murder supposedly committed by him. He couldn't watch his father realize that his son was an escaped murderer. He couldn't watch everyone at the SBPD who he'd ever worked a case with be betrayed by their very own teammate.

And, he was getting hungry.

-O-

The moment Henry walked into his home, he knew something was wrong. He closed the door, fingering the holster where his gun was hidden. He stepped over the threshold into his living room. A glass that hadn't been there before stood empty on the bar counter. He made a note to have it dusted for prints, and made his way cautiously to the kitchen.

A box of cereal and an empty bowl were perched on the counter. Henry's breath caught in his throat as he noticed the position of the box. Upside down with the bottom open and the prize missing.

Henry whipped out his phone and dialed.

"Chief Vick."

"Vick, he was here."

-O-

Police sirens wailed as several police cruisers came to a halt in front of the house. Lassiter and Chief Vick jogged up the front steps. Henry had the door open before they even reached the top step.

"Where do you think he went?" Vick asked, cutting right to the chase.

"I don't know! If I knew that, don't you think I'd have told you to go there, instead of my house?" Henry snapped.

"Henry, I'm going to need you to calm down and tell us why you think Shawn was here," Chief Vick cut in tersely.

"Food, clothes, I don't know!" Henry threw his arms up in frustration. This was his _son_ they were talking about! "Chief, with all due respect, do you really think that Shawn murdered all of these people?"

"You know I can't answer that, Henry," Vick sighed.

"Maybe it would be worthwhile to check out some other leads," Lassiter cut in with a quick glance at Henry, who nodded gratefully. "See how the victims are connected."

Chief Vick considered this. Henry waited with baited breath, not daring to hope that… "Okay, detective. McNab!"

"Yes, chief?" She jumped, having forgotten that he was standing right behind her.

"I need you to take a few other officers and see what else you can dig up about our victims."

"You want me to find other leads?"

"Yes, isn't that what I just said?" Vick snapped. Then her face softened. "Sorry," McNab raised his eyebrows, exchanging a glance with the officer next to him before walking away. She turned back to Henry. "What about Spencer's apartment?"

"No, he never leaves anything of value there. Hell, he's hardly there at all," Henry slammed his fist against the railing. They weren't going to be able to find Shawn unless he wanted to be found. Why? Because Henry had taught him how.

Lassiter's phone rang.

"Lassiter."

"Lassiter, it's Gus. You need to get to Shawn's apartment. Alone. Now."

-O-

Gus opened the door and Lassiter barged in, pushing past Gus.

"What is it, Guster? And why so secret…ive," his voice faded away as he took in Gus's grim face, and the note held in his outstretched hand. He took it, brow furrowed. His expression turned to one of shock as he read the six short sentences.

_Hello there, Shawn. Isn't this fun? Me, committing all of these murders, and you, taking the fall for it. I must say, it's gone better than I ever expected. And, oh, I forgot to mention. I'm just getting started._

**-O-**

**You know the drill.**


	9. A Walk through Framingham Park

**Things are coming to a head here! I once again have to thank you all for your awesome reviews, they mean a lot! I'm really pleased with the way this chapter turned out, so I hope you guys are too!**

**I don't know if any of you are fans of Leverage, but I have written several fanfics for the show and am planning another one for once I am done with this one. **

**Psych Quote of the Day: ****"Shawn, I've been worried about you since you turned three and started eating your own toenails." ~ Henry**

**-O-**

**Chapter 9**

**A Walk through Framing-ham Park**

The night was cold. Nights in Santa Barbara were stereotypically warm and humid, but this night was cold. Shawn was glad he'd had the forethought to grab an old jacket from his dad's house. Frankly, he was amazed that his dad had kept the old thing. It still fit him after all these years, but the added weight of the gun he had shoved into the front pocket made it seem somewhat cumbersome and off balance.

The tip of his shoe caught on an up-turned piece of pavement on the side of the road, and Shawn stumbled. Regaining his balance, he shook it off and continued walking. Up ahead of him, the road made a wide turn, the last half of the bend obstructed by the densely packed forest that flanked the back road on both sides. Shawn stumbled again, and cursed at his lack of vision. The moon, partially obscured by the branches of the higher-reaching trees, was his only source of light. That, and the occasional blinding beam of a headlight as a car careened around the bend, speeding on the back road.

He didn't really know where he was going. He couldn't go to his apartment, the police were sure to have it under constant surveillance. The Psych office wasn't an option. His dad had probably already figured out he'd been at his place by now, so he couldn't go there either. So he was walking, and thinking. Who could have possibly wanted to frame him? Had one of the criminals he'd helped arrest finally gotten out of jail, and begun seeking revenge? That would make for a good movie.

It was killing him, not being able to seek out other answers on his own. Not being able to find evidence that proved him innocent. That note might have done the trick, but knowing Lassiter, he would have just marked it as Shawn's pathetic attempt at creating fake evidence to clear his name. He didn't even know why he'd bothered calling the detective. Why he thought Lassie could help was beyond him. The guy had wanted to see him behind bars since day one. Heck, maybe he was even the one framing Shawn.

And Juliet. Why hadn't he called Juliet instead? She was his girlfriend, they were supposed to be in love. Didn't that mean she'd do anything to prove his innocence? But he knew her, and he knew that she wouldn't choose love over justice. She was a detective, after all. She had standards when it came to dating. And one of those standards involved _not_ secretly going out with a suspected murder who had just broken out of jail. And, although he probably wouldn't ever admit this to anyone except maybe Gus, he hadn't wanted to drag her into this and make her choose between him and her job.

He hadn't called Gus because Gus wasn't an actual detective. And plus he would probably end up somehow – accidentally – giving Shawn up or leading the police right to him. And Shawn really didn't need that right now.

Lights appeared around the corner, blinding Shawn. He threw his arms up to shield his eyes, squinting in the bright light. _Damn the invention of the high beams!_ He thought, moving off to the side as the car drew near. He frowned as the car slowed, and then stopped several yards in front of him. He slowed, wondering if he was about to meet the real murderer, and whether now would be a good time to turn and run as fast as he could in the other direction.

"Shawn!" It was Jeff. Shawn breathed an involuntarily sigh of relief, and jogged forward. "You need a ride?" his friend asked, nodding to the empty passenger seat next to him.

Shawn shot him a skeptical look. "You do know I'm a suspected murderer, right?"

"I already told you, I don't believe that nonsense," his eyes flicked to Shawn's arms, crossed over his chest in an effort to warm himself. "Aren't you cold?"

Shawn laughed, the single note ringing out in the otherwise quiet night. "You could say that." What was Jeff doing, all the way out here? And he just happened to be driving on the same road, the same night, the same time as Shawn? He surveyed the surrounding woods, and then glanced back at Jeff. He was about to decline when a sharp gust of wind buffeted him from behind, making the hairs on his arm underneath his thin windbreaker raise.

"Where're you going?" Jeff asked as Shawn climbed into the passenger side of the gray SUV.

Shawn considered this as he buckled. "Your hotel has a bar, doesn't it?"

-O-

_Hello there, Shawn. Isn't this fun? Me, committing all of these murders, and you, taking the fall for it. I must say, it's gone better than I ever expected. And, oh, I forgot to mention. I'm just getting started._

The note fluttered out of Lassiter's hand, falling noiselessly to the ground. He glanced at Gus, who was waiting grim-faced for Lassiter's reaction. Lassiter swore, picked up the note again, and flipped it over only to find the back was blank.

"He was telling the truth!" Lassiter muttered, immediately regretting the way he had snapped at the psychic earlier, and grateful that he hadn't told Juliet about the phone call. He looked at Gus. "Where did you find this?"

"Under the couch," Gus pointed to the ottoman, and Lassiter wasted no time ducking down to check it out.

"There's nothing else, I already checked," Gus informed the detective.

Lassiter, seeing that he was right, stood up. Something else struck him as odd as he re-read the note. "How come you told me to come alone?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because, Lassie, whoever it is that's framing Shawn is eventually going to go after him."

"And finding him first is the only way to keep him safe," Lassiter finished. "Good thinking."

Gus raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was rare for Lassiter to give compliments, let alone to the two people he found most annoying. "Thanks."

"Okay, we need to call the chief, let her know that-"

"Let who know what?" Henry barged into the apartment, glaring at Lassiter and Gus.

"Damn it, Henry, what are you doing here?" Lassiter groaned.

"I could ask you the same question!" Shawn's father snapped. His gaze fell on the note still in Lassiter's grasp, and he moved forward. "What's that?"

Lassiter reluctantly handed it over.

"I found it under Shawn's couch," Gus explained.

Henry's face paled as he read the note. He glanced up at Gus, and then Lassiter, who were both staring expectantly at him. "Well, what are you waiting for? Call the chief!" he waved the note frustratedly in the air.

Gus frowned. Something about the note seemed familiar. He couldn't quite place it, but… "Wait!" he snatched the note out of Henry's grasp, holding it in front of him.

"Hey!" Henry protested, but Gus wasn't listening. He was busy tracing the slashes of the L's, the curves of the O's and the C's.

"I recognize that handwriting!" he exclaimed.

"Well, who's is it?" Henry and Lassiter asked in unison, shooting each other annoyed glances.

"An old high school friend of Shawn's. Jeff Wilson."

**-O-**

**Uh-oh. Looks like Shawn's in more trouble than he thought… Review?**


	10. Mrs White in the Library

**I wasn't planning on updating until Wednesday, but I couldn't resist (: So here you go, two days early!**

**Quick question, does anyone remember which episode it was that Shawn had his motorcycle accident? **

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Just call me the suck-stopper. No, wait. Don't **_**ever**_** call me that." ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 10**

**Mrs. White in the Library with the Candlestick**

_"An old high school friend of Shawn's. Jeff Wilson."_

Lassiter wasted no time in pulling out his cell phone. He glanced up at Gus as he dialed. "When was the last time you saw this Wilson character?"

"The other day," Gus answered. "He stopped by the Psych office looking for Shawn."

"O'Hara," Juliet's voice came on the other end of the phone. Her speech was slurred and mumbled.

"O'Hara, are you sleeping?" Lassiter asked, stunned.

"Not anymore," was her snapped reply. "I had a headache, Chief told me to go home and get some rest," she explained before Lassiter could cut in. "What's wrong?"

"Is Chief Vick down at the station?"

"No, she's still out looking for Shawn. But I think Buzz is there. Lassiter, what's going on?"

Lassiter ended the call, and immediately dialed another number. "McNab, I need you to run the name Jeff Wilson."

There was a lengthy pause, during which Gus assumed the officer was finding the requested information. He glanced worriedly at Henry, who was sitting on his son's couch, his hands rubbing his face. Gus couldn't blame him. Shawn was in danger, they had no idea where to find him, and worst of all, he really was innocent – and no one had believed him. Even Gus had become skeptical after hearing about the note in the waitress's pocket. He would do anything now to take it all back, but it was too late, and Shawn was wandering around somewhere, unaware of the danger that stalked him. Or maybe he was aware, and was lying face down in a ditch somewhere. _No, don't think like that!_ Gus kicked himself. Shawn was okay. He had to be.

Lassiter snapped his phone shut.

"Well?" Henry stood up, impatient.

"No results for a Jeff Wilson. But the computer did find results for a _Charlie_ Wilson. He was convicted of several counts of assault with a deadly weapon and two counts of breaking and entering."

"So what does he have to do with Jeff?" Gus asked, wondering if he should hope or be afraid if the answer was "nothing".

"You don't recognize the name, Guster?"

"Should I?" An ominous feeling made Gus shiver.

"You and Spencer were the one to solve the case," Lassiter paused. "And Jeff Wilson is his brother."

"Damn it!" Henry slammed his fist against the wall, making them all jump. "Damn it, Shawn, what the hell did you get yourself into?"

"Henry, calm down-"

"No, don't tell me to calm down!" Henry shouted, interrupting the detective. Gus backed up warily. "My _son_ is out there somewhere, oblivious to the danger he's in, and we have no way of warning him!"

"Well, we're not going to find him standing around here!" Lassiter snapped back.

"Then what are we waiting for? To the Blueberry!" Gus cut in. Normally, he would have been amused to watch Lassiter and Henry going at it, but right now Shawn's safety – and probably life – was on the line. Gus wouldn't let the two men's bickering cost Shawn his life. He took several deep breaths, trying not to panic, as the two turned to face him.

"No offense, Guster, but I am not riding in that pathetic excuse of a car," Henry said.

Normally, Gus would have said anything to defend his company car. Now, he was too worked up and too concerned about Shawn to do anything. "Okay, fine. To the Lassie-mobile, then!"

-O-

Shawn was unusually quiet in the car with Jeff. The radio filled the silence, blaring out Michael Jackson's "P.Y.T" as the car sped along the road. A faint smile played across Shawn's lips as he remembered Gus's Michael Jackson costume, and the disaster that had been their performance. Gus started singing a different song halfway through, only to switch back to the original one at the end – a verse behind. Shawn let out a small laugh, wondering if his name would ever be cleared, if he would ever be able to embarrass himself alongside his partner ever again. There were only two probable endings to his situation, and neither of them were promising. He would either continue to evade arrest, and eventually flee the state, or he would be caught and have to spend the rest of his life in jail for the four murders he didn't commit.

Shawn glanced over at Jeff, about to try to start a conversation, when he noticed the gloves his friend was wearing. They were leather, but they weren't very thick. He frowned, wondering why Jeff would still be wearing them. It was cold outside, but the heat inside the car was blasting hot enough to make it feel like a sauna in there. His hands had to be sweating, wrapped in all of that suffocating leather. And yet he showed no signs of discomfort as he turned the wheel to the left. If anything, he seemed almost pleased. About what, Shawn could only guess.

He scanned the car's interior, noticing how clean and devoid of _stuff_ it was. Shawn supposed it made sense, though, because the car was a rental, according to the slip sticking out of the side compartment. The only thing in this car that hadn't been built into it (besides Shawn and Jeff) was a mini evergreen tree air freshener that swung back and forth like a pendulum as they drive around a bend in the road.

Shawn turned back to the front in time to see a shadowy figure dart in front of the car.

"Look out!" he cried, hardly believing what he was seeing.

Jeff let out a cry, eyes bulging as the car swerved. Only it didn't swerve away from the figure, it swerved toward it. Shawn glanced downwards to see that Jeff's foot still rested on the gas pedal.

He barely had time to comprehend the information before the car slammed against the figure and jolted to a stop. A crushing wall of whiteness rushed at Shawn's face, slamming him against his seat and knocking the breath out of him. His vision blurred. The seatbelt flattened against his skin, cutting off circulation in his arms and thighs. Black dots appeared around the edges of his vision as he struggled against the crushing weight of the airbag. His head was on fire, and dots of red dripped onto his lap, staining the white fabric of the bag.

Shawn groaned, the only sound he was able to make. Unconsciousness nagged at his mind, but he pushed it away. He was vaguely aware of the sound of a door opening. The weight was removed from his chest. There was a faint click, and blood returned to his wrists in a hurry, sending thousands of needles pricking into his skin. A blurry figure appeared overhead, as something slid underneath his back.

He was promptly lifted out of his seat. His eyes could barely open, but he could tell by the icy blast of air on his skin that he was no longer inside the car. He groaned again as his body was jostled around, a fiery pain woke in his chest. Colors of red, black, and muted gray swirled across his vision as he struggled to keep the black dots from overwhelming his vision completely. He fought to piece together what had happened.

"Jeff," his voice came out hoarse and pained. A chuckle was his response.

There was the sound of the car door opening again. Plush leather once again supported Shawn's back, but it felt strangely prickly, as though he were sitting on a bed of needles. He couldn't resist as Jeff repositioned his body in the driver's seat, gloved hands temporarily warming his skin wherever they touched.

"You… you were framing me…" Shawn groaned. "It was you who… killed… those people. I still… haven't pieced together the why… but I know the how. You came to Psych… looking for me. I wasn't there… so you left… taking my shirt with you… and a knife. And then you… killed that waitress… the note in her pocket was from me, but it wasn't to her. It was… to you. I wrote that note… to you… in twelfth grade. And… the man… on the beach. You shot him… and gave me the gun…"

Jeff chuckled. What scared Shawn the most was the fact that the laugh sounded genuine. "Speaking of that gun…" Shawn felt a hand slip into his pocket, and saw the blurred shape of the gun as it moved past his line of sight. "I'm sorry to do this Shawn... Aw, who am I kidding. This has been fun! Don't worry, I'm nearly done. I just have one final stop to make at a certain female detective's house."

"What're you…" Shawn didn't get to finish the sentence, as the butt end of the gun collided with Shawn's skull.

**-O-**

**Ouch. Will Shawn be okay? Review and maybe you'll find out sooner than planned(:**


	11. Finding Shawn

**This story's probably going to have one more chapter to it. So I'm taking a vote for my next Psych story: who would you rather read about disappearing – Henry or Buzz. Tell me in your review!**

**Oh, in addition to the Leverage fanfic I talked about, I am also going to try my hand at a White Collar fic. So my next Psych story will probably be updated more slowly.**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Look man, I have been shot! I am jumping on **_**somebody's**_** car!" ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 11**

**Finding Shawn  
**

_"What're you…" Shawn didn't get to finish the sentence, as the butt end of the gun collided with Shawn's skull._

Gus, Lassiter, and Henry rode in silence. Lassiter had called Chief Vick to tell her about the note, and the manhunt had immediately been turned into a search and rescue. Gus had tried calling Shawn's cell, but it had gone straight to voicemail. Unless it was dead, Shawn always left his phone on. Gus was trying not to panic, but he wasn't sure it was working. He kept glancing nervously out the back window of Lassiter's car, hoping to see Shawn walking, completely fine, along the side of the road. The image helped to push away any darker thoughts Gus had about what could be happening.

Lassiter's cell phone rang, making Gus jump and causing Henry to turn away from the window and exchange a worried glance with Lassiter. Lassiter flipped his phone open.

"Chief, any information on Spencer?"

"Maybe," the chief's tone put Lassiter's nerves even more on edge. "We've received a call about an accident at the start of Gibraltar Road. Apparently there was only one car in sight. I want you, Gus, and Henry to go check it out."

Lassiter spun the steering wheel clockwise, spinning the car around in a full 180 spin. He flipped the phone shut, muttering, "What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Spencer…"

-O-

Shawn's body lay sprawled in the driver's seat, head slacked against his shoulder, arms resting limply at his sides. Blood continued to flow steadily from the gash in his forehead, caused by flying glass and worsened by the blow to the head. His eyes were closed, giving the impression that he was merely sleeping.

His whole chest was one big bruise, although you couldn't tell through the blood-spattered cloth of his shirt. In truth, it was better that he was not awake. If he had been, he would have been in anguishing pain. His chest would have been on fire, his head would have felt as though it was about to burst. And he wouldn't have been able to move the few feet to reach for his cell phone. It had slipped out of his pocket during the transfer from the passenger side to the driver's side. If he'd been awake, he wouldn't been able to do anything but watch as Jeff Wilson walked calmly away from the calamity he had created. If he'd been awake, he may have been able to witness as the young girl, the victim of the crash, slipped silently into a coma. He would have blamed himself, thinking that he should have seen this coming. Had he been awake, he would only have been able to think back, find what he missed, and what led to the crash.

But he wasn't awake. And he didn't wake, even as cars whizzed by, going about their own business. Shawn was slumped down in the seat, they wouldn't have been able to see him. And the girl was lying on the ground, most of her body covered by the front end of the car. They wouldn't have been able to see her, either. So they wouldn't have called the police station. But then, at least an hour later, someone did.

And so the street was alive with flashing lights of police cruisers and wails of ambulance sirens, of screeching tires and door slams, of urgent voices, muttered curses, and hurried footsteps.

Gus was the first out of Lassiter's car, followed closely by Henry. He wrenched the door of the SUV open, stopping short when he saw Shawn. He froze, gazing at his best friend's unconscious body, at the blood still trickling out of the ugly wound, and relief washed over him as he noticed the shallow, slow rise and fall of his partner's chest. Shawn was alive. Beside him, Henry breathed a sigh of relief, the sound turning to a sort of soft cry of Shawn's name before breaking off.

He was vaguely aware of several EMT's unloading a gurney and wheeling it over to the front end of the car, but it didn't register as anything important.

"Shawn!" he gently shook his friend's shoulder. "Shawn, wake up!"

No response.

Gus moved over as Henry approached the open door. "Shawn, Shawn, it's me. Wake up," he lightly slapped his son's cheek. "Shawn!"

Again, no response. But then, a slight moan escaped his lips, and his eyes blinked open.

"Shawn," Henry's voice cracked slightly, and he tried to hide it.

Shawn coughed, groaning as he tried to sit up. He collapsed against the seat, hands shooting up to his forehead.

"Dad? I… I see the light," he moaned.

"Not funny, Shawn," Henry snapped. Shawn sighed and turned slightly to face his father.

"Well, hey, Dad. Nice of you to attend my funeral. You too, Gus."

"The only funeral going on here is the death of your murder charges," Gus grinned at Shawn. Now that he knew his friend would be okay, he couldn't stop smiling.

A few EMT's made there way over to Shawn and helped him onto a gurney, but Shawn refused to lie down and instead sat, slightly hunched over, with a thick woolen blanket curled around him as an EMT checked his heart rate and bandaged his head. His winces turned into a smile as he overheard Lassiter arguing with Chief Vick about something.

"Why the hell is _she_ here?" Lassiter snapped, referring to the woman standing next to him, outfit complete with six inch tall bright red heels and a leopard print jacket. Bracelets – not all of them attractive – snaked up her arm and jangled as she pushed her matching leopard spot purse back up on her shoulder.

Chief Vick turned to the woman. "That's a good question. Detective Goochberg, why are you here?" The chief's tone was thin.

"I was listening to my police scanner, sweet cheeks. I heard about psychic-boy over there, and decided I'd roll on by and say hello. Plus, I heard that a certain handsome head detective would be showing his guns," she glanced at Lassiter, who stepped back several paces.

"I'm going to have to ask that you… wait, did you just say that you have a police scanner in your vehicle?" Chief asked.

"Yeah, whatcha gonna do, darlin'? Arrest me?"

Chief Vick opened her mouth, closed it, and turned to the nearest officer. Whatever she said was lost on Shawn, however, because the psychic was more interested in the certain _head detective_ headed his way.

"Spencer, I'm going to need you to tell me what you remember."

"Well, hello to you to, Lassie. Truth be told, I can't remember much after the gun slammed into my head," Shawn said. It was true. His memories of the event were foggy at best. It bothered him, that, try as he might, he couldn't remember. On top of that, there was a nagging sense at the back of his mind, telling him that he was missing something important. Whatever it was kept eluding him. All he could remember was making his reveal to Jeff, and then… nothing.

"Jeff Wilson was the brother of Charlie Wilson-"

"Charlie Wilson? That douche who tried to kill that, uh, tennis star, what was his name?" Shawn looked at Gus.

"He didn't try to kill, he assaulted with a deadly weapon. And Lewis Hawthorn was a high school basketball player."

Shawn looked at Gus as though shocked that he could remember all of that, and then turned back to Lassiter. "Seriously, dude, you couldn't have texted me that info, like, an hour ago when I was making my reveal?"

Lassiter sighed, his patience obviously wearing thin now that he wasn't worried about finding the psychic. "Spencer, I need you to _think_. I know that's difficult for you, but can you please try to remember if Wilson said anything to you about where he was headed, what his plans were."

Shawn paused. He racked his brain, trying to come up with something. And when he finally did, he uttered a curse. _"So, what d'you think of that blonde chick up there? She's got some nice looks."_ And then, later, _"I just have one final stop to make at a certain female detective's house."_

"What is it, Spencer?" Lassiter asked.

Shawn looked from his dad, to Gus, to Lassiter, and back to Gus. "Juliet. He's going after Juliet."

**-O-**

**Don't forget to vote! And review!**


	12. Gunshots

**This is the last chapter… Sad, I know ): But I am going to be writing another fic, so no worries (:**

**Psych Quote of the Day: "Facts and logic are in the corner of the guy who thinks he's going to get his face melted off?" ~ Shawn**

**-O-**

**Chapter 12**

**Gunshots**

_"Juliet. He's going after Juliet."_

"I'm sorry, what?" Lassiter blinked, not quite sure if he should believe Spencer or not.

"Juliet!" Shawn snapped, trying to stand up. His voice held a degree of panic that Lassiter had only heard one other time – during the first Yin case. "He _told_ me he was going after her!" He stumbled, grabbing Gus for support. He looked up at Lassiter. "Why aren't you running off to your car?"

"Spencer, you were unconscious for over an hour, and you were in an accident. Your memories are a little… fuzzy."

"No, they aren't! I heard – you know what, I'm not gonna waste time arguing. Gus, let's go. Where's the Blueberry?"

"I came in Lassiter's car," Gus was looking worriedly at his friend, but none of them seemed too panicked about the news he had just shared. Why weren't they _doing_ anything? His girlfriend was the target of a murder threat! They needed to go, now! He hobbled over to Lassiter's car, shrugging Gus's hand off his shoulder. "Shawn, calm down!"

"Dude, I'm not making this up!" Shawn whirled to face his friend. "He _asked_ me about Juliet when he came to visit me in the holding cell! It was his plan from the beginning!"

"Wait, he visited you at the station?"

"Yes, Gus! And Juliet is in _danger._ _Danger_, do you understand? _Dan-ger._"

Gus sighed, frowning at Shawn's stricken expression. He glanced at Henry, who was frowning at his son. He met Gus's glance. "Look, Lassiter, maybe it would be worthwhile to drive by Juliet's place, just in case," Henry suggested.

Lassiter paused as Chief Vick walked up. "Henry's right. I want you, Gus, Shawn, and Henry to drop by O'Hara's apartment."

-O-

Shawn winced as his head snapped back against the seat, as Lassiter's car screeched to a halt in front of Juliet's house. He was the first one out, slamming his door and hobbling up the driveway, loose pavement stones rolling away from his feet. Lassiter and Gus were not far behind him, with Henry bringing up the rear.

"Lights are off, no signs of a break-in," Lassiter announced as if they couldn't see for themselves. "This better not have been a waste of my time, Spe-"

The sound of a gunshot rang through the night. Shawn bolted for the house, ignoring Lassiter's protests as he followed the psychic, gun drawn. The front door was open, and Shawn burst inside.

"Juliet!" He shouted.

"Detective O'Hara?" Lassiter called out.

There was no response. Shawn found the stairs, and leaped up them, not caring if anyone would later wonder why he knew his way around the detective's house so well. "Jules!"

"I'm in here, Shawn," came the breathless reply.

Shawn ran into her bedroom, flanked by Lassiter and followed by Gus and his dad.

Juliet was standing over a fallen Jeff Wilson, gun poised in her shaking hand. Her hair was ruffled, her tank top and sweat pants wrinkled. She was breathing hard, but her gaze never flickered away from Jeff, who was lying on the ground clutching his blood-soaked shoulder.

"Juliet," Lassiter said softly, cautiously padding over to her. He held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she handed it over.

Shawn breathed a sigh of relief, breath hitching in his throat as the pain in his bruises flared up. Shaking it off, he limped over to Juliet and gently took her hand. He watched her expression carefully, wondering what she'd do. She hadn't yet heard the news that he had been proven innocent. Her gaze pulled away from Jeff and locked onto Shawn's. He nodded slightly, and she squeezed his hand.

"Jeff Wilson, you are under arrest for the murders of Tanya and Mark Cole, Georgia Calloway, Bianca Freelance, and the attempted murder of both Heather Garrison and Juliet O'Hara," Lassiter hauled him to his feet.

"How does it feel, _Jeff_?" Shawn sneered.

"Yeah," Gus echoed. "I hope you like prison food, because that's all you're gonna eat for the rest of your life."

Jeff glared at the duo.

"O'Hara, you should go back to the station to write your statement," Lassiter said over his shoulder.

Juliet nodded, still clutching Shawn's hand. She turned to Shawn as soon as Lassiter left. "Please tell me I am not holding the hand of a murderer," the smile in her eyes gave away the sarcastic comment.

"Nope! I mean, yep, I'll tell you that," Shawn winced as head throbbed.

Juliet took notice. "That's a pretty nasty cut you got there. What'd you do, have a psychic vision and knock your head on the door?"

"Ha ha," Shawn made a face at her back as she walked out the door. He turned to Gus. "Dude, she so wants me!"

"You know that's right," Gus said.

Cue the fist bump.

**-O-**

**So this was a really short chapter. Review anyway?**


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